


Last Night I Dreamt that Somebody Loved Me

by lude_jaw



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-30
Updated: 2013-05-30
Packaged: 2017-12-13 10:02:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/823016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lude_jaw/pseuds/lude_jaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It has been three years since the devastating fever took Gyda away from Athelstan. Ever since then he has been dreaming of her. In each dream she appears older and in each dream they become closer, fulfilling an admiration that never had the chance to blossom in real life. Athelstan struggles with these dreams and with his feelings toward Gyda, the only person who had ever given him compassion and understanding. He struggles with this in regards to religion as well, continually questioning God and wondering his purpose in life, left nearly invisible in Ragnar's court.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Last Night I Dreamt that Somebody Loved Me

“Athelstan,” she whispered, her lips against my ear, then sprinted across the field giggling. 

I started laughing too and running after her, chasing her through the tall grass.

“You’ll never catch me!” she was a spirited woman, every day growing more and more like her mother. But there was something much different about her, a sweetness she portrayed uncommon to both her mother and her father. Perhaps it just came from the sweetness she allowed me when others looked on me disapprovingly. Either way, she was pure honey and I was merely a fly.

Eventually I caught up to her at the edge of the field where it was cut off by a small stream. She was already sitting there, her feet in the water, kicking and splashing. That smile was still on her face, a smile that gave me hope in God above.

She did seem somewhat different than usual; she looked... older. 

“Put your feet in too,” she obliged. 

“Alright,” I replied meekly and put my feet into the cool water. 

When I looked back upon her face, her eyes were shiny and glistening with tears, but she was still smiling.

“Gyda, what’s the matter?” I reached out and touched her soft cheek. Her light clear eyes entrapped me and I had the biggest urge to kiss them softly, to make the tears go away. 

“Absolutely nothing. I’m just so very happy,” she reached up to grasp the hand that was against her cheek and squeezed it tight, leaning into me.

I leaned into her as well, our faces gently touching, our breath mingling, our lips so very close. I tingled. It was wrong morally but I cared not. This was something I wanted; she was my happiness, my _only_ happiness. 

“Kiss me,” she whispered.

Her lips were cool and sweet, her body warm and inviting as I wrapped my arms around her. Her kisses were excited and innocent. I wondered if she was really blood of her parents. Maybe she was an angel. Thank you God above... 

As we kissed the wind picked up. It was a cooler wind than I had felt before on this warm day.

She pushed her lips away from mine and looked up at me, a scared, small look in her eyes. “I’m scared.” 

The clouds had turned an ominous gray. “It’s just a summer shower, nothing to be afraid of. We can find shelter under a tree.”

I got up from the side of the stream and turned to grab her hand. Only, she was still lying there, as if paralyzed in fear. I knelt beside her.

“Athelstan,” she said weakly. And I noticed the reddish purple rings under her eyes, the gray tint to her face.

“Gyda, what’s wrong? Are you sick?” I was frantic. What was happening? It started to rain and my eyes burned with tears. I knelt closer and touched her cheeks with my hands. She was so hot and clammy. A fever. _The fever._

She smiled. A weak smile was all she could suffice. Her eyes betrayed her; she was so scared. “I prayed for you,” she grabbed my hands tightly as I choked out a sob. “So you would get better.”

She was suddenly struggling for breath, grasping my hands so tightly. 

“Don’t be afraid, my angel. My God will greet you at the gates of heaven,” I said, a lie, knowing non-believers would never be permitted into heaven. But I just would not believe that an angel such as herself could be rejected by a just God... 

She cried out.

There was nothing I could do now. All I could do was cry... 

“Athelstan! Wake up!” someone was shouting. “Stop yelling!”

I jolted up in bed, my body cold and covered in sweat, tears rolling down my face. I looked around, confused. _A dream..._

Bjorn was by my bedside. I had expected him to look angry. I was almost certain I woke him up. He did look mostly angry, but there was a bit of compassion on his face as well.

“You were crying out for her again,” he explained. 

This had started happening soon after she was gone. I would just dream of her, nothing intimate, nothing emotional, just dream of her presence in my life. And now it was three years since she had died... Each time I dreamt of her she got older, to suit the age she should have been. And each time we grew closer. Of course none of these details I told Bjorn, but he knew I dreamt of her. 

“It’s no use dwelling on the past,” he had told me. These few years had made him more understanding. Maybe not understanding of everything, but more understanding of me. I thanked God for the small amounts of compassion I was shown, happy to still be alive after everything that had happened. 

“I know,” I replied softly. 

“She is in Valhalla now,” Bjorn said respectfully and patted me on the shoulder. “Men having their go at her and her having a go at whomever she pleases as well.”

My stomach lurched at the thought. Sweet, innocent Gyda.. 

I got up off my cot and figured I just needed to get away. The stuffiness of the room I lived in with Bjorn was enough to drive me mad. 

“Where are you off to?” he asked.

“The market,” I lied. 

I could tell he wished to come with, yet he knew I wanted my space right now. I felt bad for him. He was dejected, overshadowed by that _woman_ and the new sons. But yet I did not fret for him. He was still Ragnar’s first son and he had a true Viking spirit. If his father had forgotten him, he would one day soon regret it. 

It was a crisp day and it had rained early in the morning, making the roads muddy, yet uncrowded. I walked aimlessly, lost in my thoughts of a time when things were better than they were now. Not that anything was wrong with being invisible as I was now, in fact now there was no danger for me. And now there was no companion for me... 

A chill went up my spine as a woman began to hack a horrible cough beside me. I quickened my pace in the direction of the forest, longing to be around no living human. 

As I passed through the outskirts of town, the smoke coming from the makeshift huts sent me a chilling memory. It had been such a terrible fever. The town smelt of sickness and rotting flesh and then burning flesh. The bodies were diseased so why have them lying in a pit to fester? I could have been in that pit with all the other dead bodies. 

It was haunting to think that she had thought of me even though she was sick as well. In her need she remembered that I was not a worthless human and that I was worthy of her last compassion. Perhaps her thoughts and prayers had saved me, but I could not help but wonder why God had chosen to spare me, someone so insignificant. God surely knew how to test me. 

It was times like this that I thought of the funeral pyre, a makeshift one yet still befitting an earl’s young daughter. I remember how strong and collected Lagertha had been; that woman was the strongest woman I ever knew. Only months before had she miscarried a child, and now she had lost her sweet, innocent child. She believed, as I did, that her gods took and gave as they pleased, like my God. Yet she was so much stronger in her belief, at least on the outside. I knew how upset she had been in private. I had heard her wails join that of Siggy’s; two women so strong yet so powerless and afraid. And maybe it was not just Gyda she wept for; she wept for what she thought was the end of her and the end of anything to live for. Siggy’s grief was the same. I also think she believed it was for the best. An innocent girl such as Gyda would have been at risk to many unspeakable things, things I never wanted her to be witness to. 

As I laid in my bed for a long while afterwards, still weak from the sickness, I could not help but be angry with God. I thought of Gyda’s sickly body with flowers strewn about catching fire and I remember how I tried to pull myself together. It was as if it did not even hit me right then. The one and only person that cared about me, directly correlating to my safety, was Gyda. Her gentleness and kindness, along with her eagerness to accept those who were different, had helped my plight in this God-forsaken realm. And now God had taken away the one bit of security and happiness in my life. 

Perhaps now they would see no use for me, they would stop understanding me and kill me. Surely Ragnar would now that he had his _woman_. I was of no importance to him anymore. He had got all the information he needed out of me anyway. 

Yet it had not been so. I had just been forgotten. People knew who I was, still knew me as “priest,” but I blended in now. I was quiet and unseen, living with Bjorn. I was still cared for as much as the earl’s first born son, and that was something to be grateful for. 

As I got to the forest I pulled out my rosary, something I’d made here myself out of wood and yarn, always unseen in my pocket. I needed quiet reflection. 

Once again I found myself cursing pagan tradition. I thought of what comfort it would bring me to be able to sit at her grave and talk to her, knowing her spirit was connected to the place where she lay. 

I closed my eyes and leaned back against the ancient tree under which I was shaded. Hail Mary’s were on my lips, the Latin like a distant memory. 

My thoughts turned to Gyda’s lips... I dreamt of a young woman, much grown from the girl I knew. She would have been about sixteen now. I thought of the dangers she would face as a beautiful young woman and thought of what Bjorn had said earlier. Yet I knew that Lagertha would have taught her well in the ways of defense. She would have been powerful, skilled, and beautiful, and would have been a catch. I knew Lagertha would have not settled when it came to her marriage. 

However, things had changed. Would Gyda have left with her mother if she had still been alive? Maybe she was always meant to be out of my life. Or maybe she would have stayed her. Maybe she would have been with Bjorn and I, invisible, ignored. We could have been like a family. Because she was a woman either her father would have ignored her completely or tried to sell her off to any old wealthy man in marriage. Why not if she meant nothing but a good deal for him? My unhappiness would be unfailing then, knowing she suffered every day. I had no money to barter with Ragnar, however if she was worthless now in his eyes and if he still saw some bit of compassion for me, he would allow us to be together. Being together purely in the sense of me protecting her, of course... 

I had never thought of her in that way when she had been alive. It was immoral for me to think that way even now, even of a woman in a dream who was no longer real. My soul and life was devoted to God. Yet the only person who had ever thought to think kindly of my religion had been Gyda, who contemplated it often, inquisitive and questioning, but not in a mocking way like everyone else. I could have done right by her. I could have done God’s work with her. With her status and my knowledge we could have helped people understand God’s way, live as a holy couple. But no... I was thinking way too ahead of myself. 

Gyda was dead. There was no foreseeable future for me and I had every right to be anxious about that. My one saving grace had been gone for three years.

Was it a sin to think of her lips as I prayed the last Our Father? I certainly could not control my own dreams. So it was not my fault, right? I dug the wooden cross into my palm. It was not a sin unless I believed it was a real desire and acted upon it. But it was still a thought. And just thinking it was a sin. My eyes welled up with tears in despair.

“I have let you down, my God. This is why you have forsaken me,” I whispered to the trees, whimpering.

I suddenly longed for my homeland, for England. The cool, crisp, rainy weather, the place where I had all trust in God and brothers who cared for me. Yet... those people were gone. They were massacred. All I had once known was gone from me. And then so many others I cared about and who showed me any sort of kindness had been decimated by the vicious fever of which I had somehow survived. God had granted me this one goodness in sparing my life and I could not take it for granted.

The day was turning into night, and I decided it was best to head back.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoy; just chapter one of a hopefully short set of chapters to finish this up


End file.
